tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74687520450979464552016-09-13T09:32:31.863-05:00Ride, Rider, RoadRandom details, photos, anecdotes, musings, and other general writings from our time out in the world on motorcycles.Danielnoreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-28692368905735233532016-01-16T18:36:00.000-06:002016-01-16T18:36:43.771-06:00Let's play a game<div><br /></div><div>While partaking in inappropriate amounts of Netflix, by even 2016 standards, it occurred to me that I might like to take part in a social experiment and subject my family to the same. I am certain that I am not the first, nor will I be near the last, man to impose on his family a passing whim with the best of intentions only to bring what will be seen an overly heavy yoke to our necks for no reason other than personal boredom. The cliche subject of my attention is the modern luxury of immediate access to the information and entertainment provided by our electronic companions and the internet.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will skip all the parts about taking time to unplug and get more fresh air and so on. Suffice to say I am not interested with what we can do without, there is no doubt that any of us could make do and survive a outage of prescribed length. Instead I would like to know what we can benefit with less of, for a more prolonged amount of time. I world compare this to being less interested in trying a fad diet plan, instead focusing on sustainable healthy choices.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our experiment shall commence on February first of 2016. The idea of being able to review what we learn will pertain to a logbook that each participant will keep. The contents and dissemination of records, at the time of writing, will as listed;</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>The log should be a collection of facts on a daily basis.</b></i></div><div><ul><li><i>Authors name</i></li><li><i>Date of entry</i></li><li><i>Time of each entry to precede each note</i></li></ul></div><div><i><b>Every time one of the below devices is used an entry should be made.</b></i></div><div><ul><li><i>Computer</i></li><li><i>Tablet</i></li><li><i>Television</i></li><li><i>Game Console</i></li><li><i>Phone (with voice calls being the only exception)</i></li></ul><div><i><b>The entry should describe the following points;</b></i></div></div><div><ul><li><i>Time of the activity</i></li><li><i>Purpose</i></li><li><i>Duration</i></li></ul><div><i><b>Each participant will maintain a separate logbook.</b></i></div></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>Now, as this unfolds, each participant will be free to have a customized experience. On the one hand this could be treated as a control period. As such the participant might go about their days as they usually would. This would undoubtedly involve a large amount of time recording data. A polar opposite pursuit may be to refrain from all but a few activities involving the above items, creating much shorter logs. Of course it is perfectly acceptable to be anywhere in between, as the idea is to only look back and make observations based on the data collected along the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>The records will be uploaded to this page for reference at which point the participants should develop a personal statement for the future surrounding these activities.</div>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-12286454269001603162015-04-15T22:10:00.001-05:002015-04-15T22:10:25.567-05:00Don't StopIn a world that has become so small by virtue of technology and all that comes with it, we find it increasingly simple to convince ourselves that we are connected to each other. We know absolutely every move our friends and family make through social media of all kinds. What we often forget is that what we are told is very often far from the truth. Ignoring the malicious propaganda of oppressive and manipulative regimes for thousands of years, I am referring to the connections we make with the people we know through cold data.<div><br></div><div>Examples abound of people intentionally misleading others thought these modern means but even more so can we say that today we unintentionally misinform others and ourselves in the fact that the information proposed through the written word is all too easy to hide behind.</div><div><br></div><div>What I propose is that you will find out less about me by learning what I had for lunch or my status update this morning than you would had we simply had lunch or chatted on the phone.</div><div><br></div><div>As I am writing this I am in a hotel room on a stopover during a small motorcycle trip through South Texas. It also happens that my Grandmother passed away 72 hours ago. Admittedly I had a lot of thought about what to do about my planned trip seeing that I had plenty of time to call it off and spend time with my family as they grieved.&nbsp;</div><div><br></div><div>What it came down to as I spent time with my thoughts both at home and the few remaining hours I spent at work before departing on my ride was the obvious right thing to do. For me.</div><div><br></div><div>My wife and children aside, the people I left at home to grieve have little idea about who I am or who I have become over the pat 5 years. As I spend long hours with myself inside a helmet accompanied only with my thoughts I think back over all the years, that I have memory of, and the people that have come and gone. The people I knew, the ones I didn't, and the ones I should have.</div><div><br></div><div>Tonight I recommit myself to not convincing my mind that I have connected with others through this media even though I enjoy the many benefits of it. I commit to knowing those people that are with me on this journey and to those that aren't yet. The written word is a fine medium, the speed and economy of which has never been better in our history. But don't stop there.&nbsp;</div><div><br></div>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-32349490023421202672013-05-06T12:44:00.000-05:002013-05-06T12:47:09.151-05:00Ride report to comeI was tempted to write a lengthy post about how exciting it is to be back in the world of motorcycles. This seemed more appropriate, more solemn, as I consider what it means to be back on two wheels. In person I am thrilled and can't stop grinning, here we reflect and prepare for the epic adventures to be had and memories to be made. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_GzcGK3uEm4/UYfsmMVe1VI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/ZMeHk1XXJjg/s640/blogger-image--631496087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_GzcGK3uEm4/UYfsmMVe1VI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/ZMeHk1XXJjg/s640/blogger-image--631496087.jpg" /></a></div>Riderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00652697968599708220noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-57184629932559662712011-02-15T18:08:00.000-06:002011-02-15T18:08:10.301-06:00And then there were none.After doing some serious garage cleaning in prepearation for a winter storm I came to a realization. I had two bikes in the garage that were going nowhere fast. <br /><br />First the Goldwing, Uncle Dave's wing, was a failure on my part. The wing was in need of an alternator conversion and a lot of work had gone into a tear down and partial rework before I lost steam and was involved in last years accident. Having never been able to get back to work on the project I was forced to cut ties and move on.<br /><br />Next was my Concours. This mangled motorcycle stood silently in the garage as a silent testament to what had happened and in a weird kind of way, I liked it. I liked seeing it everyday when going to work and returning home. Then again, I hated it. So off it went.<br /><br />I am officially without a motorcycle again. Of course that probably means I need to start shopping.Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-13447760314501200332010-10-07T19:40:00.003-05:002010-10-07T19:48:06.368-05:00'Ride With Me' an original shortThe car coughed and sputtered angrily, jerking and hesitating as it lost momentum. This woke me from the trance I had unwittingly fallen into, long hours on these back roads trying to get from point A to point B, I don't even remember. Surveying the dash instruments a sick feeling of dread filled my stomach while my head was filling with anger. Anger with myself, why had I not paid enough attention to the fuel gauge, but then how long had I been driving in that trance before being resuscitated by the loss of the lullaby created by the engine and tires on pavement. All this I considered as I eased onto the shoulder of a deserted highway.<br /><br />The night air was cool, and without fresh circulated air from the vents the windows soon began to fog as I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. 'Idiot, now what, what are you going to do' I exclaimed audibly to a lifeless audience of gauges, numbers and needles staring at me from their cluster as if from some tiny amphitheater. I turned the ignition to 'off' and removed the key, leaning back in the seat I removed the seat belt. I could no longer see through the fogged windows, though there was not much to see. After wiping my window a little, to create a portal to check my wing mirror for oncoming traffic I swung the door open and stepped onto the shoulder. Why was I not surprised that there were no headlights where I came from or tail lights where I should be headed. I was walking.<br /><br />After only just a few hundred yards I passed a sign stating that the town of Bartlet was only 30 miles away. 'Great' I greeted the sign as I approached and I continued as it passed, 'this aint my night.' Then again the sign didn't make sense, I thought as I continued to put one foot in front of the other, 30 miles to Bartlet would have to mean my last fill up was only just over 200 miles ago, I couldn't possibly have run out of gas. My mind's analysis of the situation only awoke a dread that had been waiting to pounce. The last thing I could remember was pulling back onto the highway and hitting the cruise control. Had I been out of it for two-hundred miles? Before my new realization had fully sunk in a quiet rumble found my ear.<br /><br />I could see by the substantial light from the moon that the road ahead was clear so I stopped and turned around as I took an extra step backwards and further from the roadway. A single headlight coming my direction got larger very quickly, it slowed as it approached and soon the machine was parked in the roadway opposite me. A beautiful late forties pan-head with a side car carefully crafted to its side. The rider stared at me though I couldn't see his eyes behind tinted goggles, though he wore a leather coat the cool air must have been chilling as he did not have a helmet.<br /><br />'Going to Bartlet' The mans voice broke the silence. The words came evenly and without an accent, though I am not sure if he was asking me where I was going or telling me where he intended to go.<br />'Y-Yes' I coughed, I did not realize how dry my throat had become. The rider then reached over into the side car, producing both a blanket and a set of goggles, then motioned with his gloved hand to get in.<br />'Ride with me' I would realize later that I lost control of my own actions at that point and seemed cradled and soothed as I climbed into that sidecar next to a man I had only known for a minute or two and had traded less than a dozen words between us.<br /><br />The bike roared through the gears as we reached speed, the air passing over me made the night seem below freezing, my cheeks suffered the wrath of the wind as the rest of my body nestled even deeper into the cavern in my new transport, protected by a wool blanket. Left and right the road curved until the road climbed out of the empty valley and a light could be seen ahead. We approached quickly, paused for a moment, then gently passed another motorcyclist making his way along this quiet highway, passing through the same valley we had just exited. A sharp salute type wave was handed out by my driver as the other rider faded into the distance behind us. From my vantage point they seemed strangely connected with one another though it would be safe to presume the only thing they shared was this night and the machines carrying them home.<br /><br />Bartlet arrived and my companion pulled into a dirt parking lot under a streetlight across the road from a small diner.<br />'The coffee's not bad, and the Sheriff should be able to point you in the right direction for help' The motor still thumped away and the rider made no move, I now assumed that he had originally asked me if I was going, since he obviously had no intention of staying, to Bartlet. I thanked him, crawled out of the side car, leaving behind the blanket and goggles. I offered to pay him for his time he declined, a cup of coffee, declined, anything. A sharp wave was offered to me as he looked ahead, down the highway, twisted the throttle and was soon gone. I waited until the tail-light had disappeared before turning towards the cafe.<br /><br />The sun would soon be pushing back the night, a cup of coffee would be called for before phoning for assistance. As I opened the door to the diner I paused and turned towards another rumble and caught a wave from the rider we had passed earlier. I waved back, although there is no way the rider saw it, I felt connected.<br />Once seated at the counter I ordered a cup of coffee and some toast. A very tired looking waitress took my order and disappeared. Reappearing with my order she smiled and offered milk. Just as I sipped my hot saving grace a man walked through the front door. Obviously the sheriff, with a badge and a gun, he looked surprised to see a customer. The sheriff glanced in the direction of my waitress, now wiping off flatware with a dry towel, then came and sat down aside me at the counter.<br /><br />'Morning' He said.<br />'Good morning officer' I offered and sipped my coffee some more.<br />'I didn't see your car out front' The sheriff sounded almost accusatory but I assumed it came with the line of work. Actually I can see how my presence in a small town diner, a stranger, with no vehicle in the vicinity would be odd.<br />'I ran out of gas outside of town, back in the valley, fortunate for me a generous biker stopped and gave me a lift, lucky me I guess, I was looking at a long walk' The sheriff then sat back on his stool a little and looked as if he had just experienced the loss of his favorite hound.<br />'Must have been a biker in the valley' he solemnly stated, the waitress interrupted,<br />'Would you cut it out Jeff, and leave him be, he just wants to drink his coffee and be on his way' She spoke about me but never made eye contact and I somehow didn't feel welcome for lunch.<br />'Yes there was, I just told you I got a ride from a biker' I offered, as the waitress disappeared again in the back.<br />'I better get you back to your vehicle' At that I knew lunch was out of the question. I finished my breakfast and left some cash behind for the missing waitress to collect. The sheriff was already at the front door looking at a collage of pictures on the wall nearby.<br />'That was it wasn't it' he asked. I looked at the picture he was referring to, and while of similar vintage, the motorcycle pictured was old and rusted, damaged and falling apart sitting on a manicured lawn.<br />'I'm not sure what you mean, ya that looks to be a similar model but this thing is old and beaten, how on earth do you think he could have given me a ride on that, and besides it had a sidecar' I thought my time to leave was getting more obvious.<br />'There wasn't enough left of that sidecar to place graveside' I froze, looked back at the picture on the wall and listened.<br />'That, there is Norton Longwell, he lived in the area all his life, unless he was overseas, seeing to his duty. He didn't live far from here and died a few years back. In 1957, only a year after that picture was taken Norton and his wife were on their way home from a wedding of a relative out of state. Only a few miles from his family's farm a truck driver hauling cattle fell asleep at the wheel. No-one knows what exactly happened but that truck was moving fast, it drifted into Norton's lane and he tried to swerve around the truck. He almost made it but that truck collided full speed with the side car, ripping it off the bike and sending Norton and machine careening into the dark. Norton lived but was haunted by that night for the rest of his life. For the past few years, every once in awhile I come into this diner for breakfast just as I do everyday, and I find a person just like you sitting at that counter. Drivers of cars, trucks, tractors, buses all saying the same thing. They broke down. Well I will tell you something, not one of those vehicles needed any repair, I take them back and their motors start just fine. They each say they saw a biker or two or dozen on their way into town next to old Norton here. Norton stops cars if there is a biker in the valley and makes you wait the night out here before moving on, that way no harm comes to the riders.'<br />'Jeff' Interrupted by the waitress again 'Please get on with it and stop with the tall tales.'<br />Jeff placed the straw uniform hat on his head and walked out the front door obediently. Before following I leaned in closer to the picture that the sheriff had pointed at. Except that I could now see his eyes, this was the rider that I had met, lost control to, less than two hours ago.<br />'I'm sorry Norton, I will be more careful' I whispered quietly to the picture before following the sheriff out the front door and into his truck. Nothing was wrong with my car.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/host/early_years_56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/host/early_years_56.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-55944003174050623822010-10-01T20:49:00.001-05:002010-10-01T22:26:44.226-05:00I would like you to meet......My new eye candy. This is the <a href="http://powersports.honda.com/2010/nt700v.aspx">Honda NT700v</a>.<br /><br />Weighing in at below 600 pounds and still getting 250 miles between gas stations this little feature rich tourer is next on my short list. Available with ABS, standard with integrated bags, although small, available trunk kit, proven shaft drive and liquid cooled this cool little ride will eat up the short rides and will yearn for the long miles as I work up to the endurance stuff.<br /><br />Now to pay for it. Why don't I start between the couch cushions and you check in the car cup-holders.Danielnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-25556628231741293912010-08-18T18:22:00.000-05:002010-08-18T18:22:15.688-05:00For now...May 27th at around 2:40 in the afternoon I was struck broadside by an SUV as I traveled through an intersection.<br /><br />I blacked out upon impact and the following is as told by the eyewitness that had to make evasive maneuvers in order to miss me. And I thank him for not giving me a second blow. The bike and I ripped the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1282173313_0">front bumper</span> off of the SUV in the impact and glanced off in the general direction I was traveling for about 100 feet. The front wheel clipped the curb and cartwheeled into a dirt ditch and I went the opposite direction, rolling like a log 12 or 13 times before coming to a rest.<br /><br />Paramedics responded and evaluated my condition. I was stable and waited in an ambulance while the emergency workers spoke to dispatch to decide which trauma hospital would best be able to handle my case. CareFlite arrived on scene and transported me to <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1282173313_1">Methodist hospital in Dallas</span>. <br /><br />After a brief stay in the ER I was taken for xrays/CAT scan and then on to surgery to address the injury to my foot. During the accident it appears that my left foot peg shattered and then skewered my foot, ripping the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1282173313_2">ligaments and tendons</span> form the bones and pushing them out the other side. The heel of my foot was severely damaged and there was a partial de-gloving of the skin as well. I took in 3 units of blood during the two hour surgery and was returned to a recovery room. I needed two more units of blood to catch me up from the loss and I was left to heal.<br /><br />Over the next two weeks the orthopedic and plastic surgeon deliberated on how they would stop the foot from decaying, as it was doing so very rapidly. I was put into hyperbaric therapy for 2 hours every day in a vain effort to deliver more oxygen directly to the tissue. I underwent another two hour surgery to clean out the bad tissue to give the healthy tissue a chance.<br /><br />In the third week I was told that they were out of ideas and besides something miraculous happening, we would have to remove the foot. 3 days later a plastic surgeon doing a surgery in the hospital was told about my case and came to have a look. <br /><br />This surgeon didn't see any reason to remove the foot and was prompt to cancel all the weird treatments and took me into another two hour surgery where he removed anything that even looked like unhealthy tissue. The following week I was in a 12 hour surgery where the surgeon removed a muscle from my abdomen, to form into a new heel, and a <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1282173313_3" style="border-bottom: 2px dotted rgb(54, 99, 136); cursor: pointer;">skin graft</span> from my thigh the size of a standard piece of notebook paper.<br /><br />After 5 weeks in the hospital and another 5 weeks at home I returned to work in a wheelchair. Walking is in the very near future and I will make a full recovery.<br /><br />I was wearing durable pants, helmet, goggles, and boots. I will walk away from this with no lasting ailments. In the future my equipment will stay a priority ahead of what type of bike I ride.<br /><br />Somebody was looking out for me and I will always take preventative measures including safety equipment and rider training technique refreshers to make his job a little easier.<br /><div style="color: red;"><b><br /></b></div><b style="color: red;">Ride safe and for crying out loud, please, watch for bikers.</b>Danielnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-57715586458729860722010-05-14T15:30:00.000-05:002010-05-14T15:30:33.330-05:00You call that rain?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/weather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/weather.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Today in the greater Dallas area we had one of our more rain soaked afternoons of the year. I decided to leave work a little early and get in some wet weather condition experience on this, still rather new to me, bike.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/tankbagponcho.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/tankbagponcho.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I probably underestimated the rain but I got a chance to test out a great feature of my tank bag I didn't know about when I picked it out. A hide away rain poncho with see through top. The rain also gave the bike a good rinse, knocking bugs off that had been on there for weeks, since my weekend ride around East Texas.Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-36783970033437028602010-05-01T16:00:00.000-05:002010-05-01T16:00:03.292-05:00And they fished<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A huge thank you to Ronnie and Mary for letting us share a wonderful quiet weekend with them at Cedar Creek Lake. Thanks also to Mike and his wife Patricia for inviting us and to Rick and Camila for being there to share with us all.<br /><br />It has taken a week for me to get to post a few pics and talk about our weekend away. As can be read in an earlier post Tawnya and I were without the boys for a weekend and got to enjoy some peace and quiet. Saturday night we were weary from our ride but soon perked up at sharing some cold ones with old friends, getting to know a few acquaintances better, and meeting new friends.<br /><embed width="600" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullscreen="true" allowNetworking="all" wmode="transparent" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vidmg.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1731.flv"></embed><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1725.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We drank and talked, laughed and fished long into the night. In the morning Mike made buttermilk biscuits from scratch to go with our bacon and eggs. Ronnie netted us some shad and we were off again with lines in the water.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1727.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1740.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1749.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1753.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1754.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1755.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1760.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The only person that didnt catch something didnt wet a line that weekend, here are a couple of the spoils!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1767.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I mangled a few fillets for the experience and Ronnie ran us through the rest, giving freely of any knowledge he could add along the way. In the end everybody pitched in and we had a fish fry supper with the 7 pounds of fillets that had been out of the water less than 45 minutes.<br /><embed width="600" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullscreen="true" allowNetworking="all" wmode="transparent" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vidmg.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1771.flv"></embed><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1751.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1750.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A meal outdoors with a view of the lake, none of us will soon forget. I hope to return soon with new friends and old alike.Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-54917458412043174772010-05-01T15:29:00.000-05:002010-05-01T15:29:02.617-05:00Action photos!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1683.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Since Tawnya was able to join me this past weekend I wanted her to practice getting some action shots. I am sure she will get some great ones as she gets more comfortable. To date Tawnya's longest ride had been about an hour and a half, and that was on the back of a Goldwing. She persevered through 401 miles and was still comfortable enough to get some pics, here are a few.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1699.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1703.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1700.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-35785449770354169912010-04-27T21:10:00.009-05:002010-04-27T21:19:53.536-05:00Lured to FishTawnya and I were invited out to fish Cedar Creek Lake from a beautiful lake front property, belonging to the family of a friend. It had been a while since we last got away for a night without work or kids or bills or, or, or you get the idea. My parents agreed to watch the boys so the ride was on. Early Saturday morning when we were packing up for the overnight I decided why not try to hit the ground on this county project that I was dying to begin. A quick look at the map and I decided I could do a few before meeting up in Gun Barrel City at 1800 with our friends.<br /><br />2 Kids, 2 dogs, and a ferret were deployed on my parents home as a blitzkrieg and I stuffed our gear into the boxes on the Concours, strapped 2 fishing rods on the back and we were off, with no sign of our intent save for the poles on the back giving us the air of shortwave radio operators.<br /><br />We made quick time rolling into our first stop, Rockwall of Rockwall county. We were greeted with the sweet smell of roasted corn and the unmistakable aroma of swine over charcoal being massaged with sinful mixtures of Texas barbecue sauce. Rounding the corner and approaching the town square revealed some kind of carnival event complete with vendor booths, food, and cowboys in broad straw hats, starched jeans, and pressed white shirts. You could see a bit of the courthouse but I will have to return to collect a good picture, and a great reason to return to a cool little county, the smallest in Texas in fact covering only 147 square miles.<br /><br /><b>Fun Fact:</b> Quoted from the counties website<br /><i><span class="Subhead1">The Rock Wall</span> - In the early 1850s, farmers were digging a well and discovered a rock wall that crossed the county and at some places appeared above ground level. Scientists have determined that this is a natural formation, but folk tales continue to say that it was built by prehistoric natives. When the town of Rockwall was formed, it was named for the rock formation.&nbsp;</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1679.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Next we trekked into Kaufman of Kaufman county. The night prior to our ride had seen a fairly decent size storm pass through the areas moving east along the route we were taking and left behind in its wake damage that looked to be primarily downed trees and ripped billboards, people's homes seemed to be in good condition and road crews beat us out and left the roads in very good condition. We found the square to be the first of many that would prove quiet and mostly vacant. The smell of fresh cut grass is what I enjoyed as I sat in the shade on a brick step taking in the peace.<br /><br /><b>Fun Fact:</b> Find out more at http://www.kaufmancounty.net/ <br /><i>Kaufman is home to the Vietnam Memorial Wall Of Texas</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1680.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Canton of Van Zandt county was up next with a very straight road into downtown. Canton is home to a very active open air market and there was enough traffic to make me think twice about lingering. I took a picture and we continued on.<br /><i> </i><br /><b>Fun Fact:&nbsp;</b><br /><i>In 1845 William H. McBee established a gristmill and a sawmill three miles west of Loller's bridge at the site of Hamburg, established in 1850 by James Colthorp. This mill is said to have cut the logs that were used in the first courthouse in Dallas.</i><br /><br /><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1695.jpg" width="320" /></a>In Rains county we visited the county seat of Emory pursued by a large pack of Harleys and their cheery riders in leather vests and bandannas, not a one wave could be pried from them as they rumbled passed. I will definitely be returning one of these days to eat at a burger joint on the town square with a sign sporting a burger with about twenty patties on it. I am not sure they serve this artist's representation but I am willing to find out.<br /><br /><b>Fun Fact:&nbsp;</b><br /><i>Upon entering the county a sign declares Rains county as the eagle capitol of Texas.</i><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1708.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The road from Emory to Quitman of Wood county was the best we encountered with sweeping turns and shaded by mature trees passing some very impressive properties. Traffic remained light and the air crisp under a blue sky made clear by the passing of the nights storm.<br /><br /><b>Fun Fact:&nbsp;</b><br /><i>In a county of 696 square miles there are 1,521 miles of paved roads.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1715.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Up next was a visit to Upshur county with a visit to Gilmer. The courthouse lawn was home to a very large cannon that looked really cool, I wonder what kind of fuel mileage I would get towing that beast home.<br /><br /><div style="color: white;"><b>Fun Fact:</b><i><br /></i></div><div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><i>On February 28, 1844 he [Able Park Upshur] was killed in an explosion of the "Peacemaker", a new cannon on the Battleship Princeton, so when the legislature organized this county they requested that it be named Upshur.</i></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1717.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">We stopped for lunch after visiting the Gregg county courthouse in Longview. The last time I was at this courthouse I was researching genealogical information and received a parking ticket, we were hungry anyway so no worries about over staying the 2-hr limit this time. Tawnya's father lives in Longview so we frequent the area. Our all time favorite Tex-Mex can be had at Papacita's located on the loop.</span></div><br /><div style="color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Fun Fact:&nbsp;</span></b></div><i>Late in 1930, Gregg County was rescued from the Great Depression by the largest pool of petroleum ever discovered in the United States. <b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">&nbsp;</span></span></b></i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1719.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Smith County, home to Tyler is another area Tawnya and I had frequented with family members living in and around the county. We rode past a very cool, old train station turned museum and some very old cobblestone roads just north of downtown. The day was growing old so I took my picture in front of a crowded courthouse and we moved on.</span></div><br /><div style="color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Fun Fact:&nbsp;</span></b></div><i>The County was established in 1846 by the new Texas State Legislature and was named for General James Smith who fought for Texas' independence and served during the Indian Wars. Boundaries were established at that time and have not changed to this day.</i><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/moto%20trip/101_1720.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Our last stop on our impromptu county collection trip was Athens of Henderson county, with park benches sporting slogans like 'Home of the friendliest people', well the attendant of a cafe on the square wouldn't let Tawnya use the bathroom<i> </i>so we hit a Taco Bell and bee lined to Gun Barrel City. We met up with our friends and spent the rest of the night and most of Sunday doing exactly what we came for, but that is a different story all together.<br /><br /><div style="color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Fun Fact:&nbsp;</span></b></div><i>The Saturday that we were there was the only weekend in April with no event scheduled at the large fair park complex. Making light traffic for us :)</i><br /><i><br /></i><br />All in all we got 9 counties done, or 3.5% of all counties in Texas! Not bad for a spur of the moment trip. Stay tuned for more and <b style="color: red;">watch for bikes out there folks.</b><i><br /></i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i></i>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-11511927852352112952010-04-09T12:01:00.000-05:002010-04-09T12:01:26.955-05:00Gas and a LagunaI was in need of some better fuel consumption numbers and there is only one way I know of to get those. I stepped in to the garage as the door rolled up to get a late start on my day. Would you believe the beauty that spilled in to that garage just then. Sunshine and a breeze that not only carried the perfect blend of cool and warm but with the aroma of fresh cut grass and diesel (it is trash day). I warmed up the bike, strapped on a helmet and was off. I first had to make a quick DVD drop off, made so simple by my new tank bag (thank you Mom and Dad). In go the DVD's to Dave's mailbox and I'm off again, I felt a bit like the Postman in Austraila, only with a cooler bike!<br /><br />This fellow is a neighbor of my aunt and uncle and he has a pretty good set of bollocks for such a young guy.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/bollocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/bollocks.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />I was beginning to doubt that the bike would ever actually hit the reserve so I went ahead and filled up. My mileage increased about 1 mile per gallon to an average of 35.5. I hope to increase that on road trips with throttle control. The bag conceded easily allowing my fuel stop to be a pleasant one, and with my wallet and phone in it's pockets, a convienient one as well.<br /><br /><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/tankbag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/tankbag.jpg" width="150" /></a>The <a href="http://www.firstgear-usa.com/fgweb3.nsf/Products/F5118A7D72E3A208862574F00077FE8D?opendocument">Laguna GPS Tank Bag</a> that my parents treated me to for my birthday is perhaps the best tank bag I have ever seen. I will be getting a 12v DC outlet wired up hopefully this week and look forward to using the GPS pouch! <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Watch for riders, and ride safe.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/horserider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/horserider.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>Danielnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-72894698928682731922010-04-08T10:54:00.001-05:002010-04-08T10:54:28.896-05:00A valiant effort.To further blanket myself in the technology I decided to test out a feature of blogging probably best reserved for the web's elite. This had been posted via text message from my mobile phone, however it split the post into 10 pieces and to add insult to injury reversed the order making the message incomprehensable.&nbsp;I will leave it to the pros, enjoy the post as a consolation prize. <br /><br />When deciding what to post with my new found feature I came across an anecdote in the old noggin that I am sure I have never written down and rarely found a situation so hard up for conversation that warranted sharing it.<br /><br />I had ridden on a few varied motorized vehicles in my youth, however the rides were few and far between. This helped me later in life, before I bought my first motorcycle, by not allowing me to know what fun I was missing out on. One summer day when I was about 10 years old my scout troop had taken a field excursion to a remote cattlestation outside of Alice Springs, Australia. While there we were exploring life on what was practically an alien planet, such as grocery shopping, daily chores, and the school of the air. I assure you these things were familiar to us in title only.<br /><br />We had finished milking a cow that was anything but plump and healthy looking as those to which I am now used to seeing, and we were about to head back to the house. The trip was about a thousand yards from where we were and the group began it's hike. Now the kid that actually lived here had a little moped and planned to leave us in the dust and join us when we arrived hot and thirsty. Before he left I motioned for a lift and he waved me on. I swung a leg over and planted my self on the hot steel luggage rack that was bolted to the rear fender in place of a passenger pillion. I then endured one of the funnest and perhaps most painful to date expieriences that I can remember. It was all off road and far from smooth, but it was my first ride on two wheels.<br /><br />I do have two children, but this certainly could not have helped.Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-39137956980367800842010-04-07T10:16:00.000-05:002010-04-07T10:16:21.352-05:00Wingin' it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/100_0311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/100_0311.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As promised I will share the story behind how I got the Goldwing home.<br /><br />I seem to remember that it was March, could have been late or early in the month but I do remember the temperatures here in Texas had begun to rise above freezing and riding a motorcycle should have been a breeze. I had been shopping around for something large enough and equipped to make two up extended rides as comfortable as I could afford. That is when I came across a bike in decent enough condition, in my price range and seemed capable enough for what I wanted. It was in a suburb of Oklahoma City, just west on I-40, I cant remember which but I assure you it did not matter to me at the time. I had Uncle Dave pick me up from work that day to give me a lift the 200 miles north to get the bike. The weather was nice and I threw my light jacket in the back of the Yukon and hopped in, we were off, I believe the temperature at this point on the trucks rear view mirror read something like 60 degrees. Traffic was slow with rush hour attendees and I was a little giddy on the way to I-35 at the prospect of being back to two wheels again. Once we hit the interstate traffic lightened and we picked up speed, the temperature now showed 55 degrees which I attributed to getting close to and crossing Lake Lewisville with a very stiff breeze.<br /><br />Things did not start to worry me until we got to Denison, where a brief glance at the temp now showed below 50 and a wind was starting to blow. Now, I have always been notorious for being ill prepared for weather (which I am getting better about) and I began to think that the light jacket resting in the back seat might not cut it. And perhaps I should have brought a pair of gloves. I told Dave that we should probably stop somewhere before we get to OKC and let me find a pair of gloves. <br /><br />Crossing the Red River I felt a whole new anticipation. A little rain with a few pieces of sleet thrown in for good measure had begun to sprinkle and the temp display was plummeting and now read about 40 degrees. We pulled over at a truck-stop and apparently truckers have very small hands which do not get cold. I settled on the warmest looking work gloves and we picked up the pace into Oklahoma City to try and beat whatever was on its way.<br /><br />We met up with the seller and his wife at home and both were very nice and it was a pleasure to meet them, they invited us into their home, out of the COLD, to do the paperwork after I looked the bike over thoroughly and took it for the shortest test ride ever. After a few pleasantries we departed and hit the first gas station before the interstate to top off. At this point Dave probably thought that I had finally lost it and would likely eat crayons and play with my poo if I could feel my fingers, the temperature was at freezing, we had about 15 minutes of sunlight left and 200 miles to cross.<br /><br />We were off, I led the way back through bricktown and made headway south as the last bit of light disappeared. My new ride hat a speedometer issue and the needle just flew in circles at about 3,000rpm so its your best guess how quick we were moving, all I know is that I wanted to get home. The sleet only lasted about half an hour but the damage was done. My light jacket did little to provide warmth for my core, a great fairing kept a nice pocket which helped, the handlebars extended slightly past the fairing leaving my hands and their work gloves at the whim of this merciless winter blast that had waited all week to show up just for me. I made it to Marietta, about 120 miles, before having to stop. I knew I should stop because when I opened my hand to brake a little for slower traffic, my frozen fingers could not apply the front brake.<br /><br />I parked at a fuel pump and Dave pulled the truck alongside, into which I clambered as a shipwreck victim might climb aboard a Carnival cruise ship. Dave cranked the heat and I removed my gloves and huddled at the air vent. A conversation then took place in that truck that neither of us have forgotten or will likely forget regardless of miles ridden or cold beverages consumed.<br /><br /><i>'Dave look I cant do this I had no idea this weather would be coming in, its too cold' I explained, 'the gloves aren't cutting it, I couldn't use the front brake and my thighs are so cold that they cramped when I tried to put my feet down and I almost dropped it.'</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>'What do you want to do' Dave cracked the window to have a smoke as I considered my next move. I had been so concerned with getting off the road after the discovery that my&nbsp; hand was to cold to brake that I hadn't considered what I would have to do from here.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>'Look I d-don't know I j-just know I'm too cold r-right now to leave this truck' As heat began to return to my body an uncontrollable shudder like I have never experienced before developed, I assume my bodies attempt to warm itself as quickly as possible. It was almost cartoonish.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>'Well' Dave rolled the window back up as he extinguished his cigarette, 'just sit and warm up a bit and we will think of something in a few minutes' We sat in the truck under the floodlights of a roadside gas station with no other customers. It was a Friday night and the local bars and restaurants would be teeming with happy, warm residents that did not have another 80 miles of riding in freezing temperatures, practically naked, to endure.</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>'I'm leaving it' my body had bound and gagged my brain and would now do anything to not have to get out of this warm seat. 'We will park it over there near the door to the store and we can come back tomorrow to get it, it has to be warmer in the sunlight' I explained 'it will be fine, no one will mess with it.'</i><br /><i><br /></i><br /><i>'OK' Dave lit another cigarette and cracked the window as he dialed up a number on his cell phone and held it to his ear. 'Hey, we are doing pretty good here. Just stopped to warm up a bit.' Dave paused while his wife conversed on the other end of the line. 'Daniel isn't sure that he can make it, things got pretty cold up here and he just doesn't have the right clothes, we are thinking about leaving it...'</i><br /><br />When Dave tried to explain our situation, to a person whose replies I could not hear, the verdict was decided quickly. There was no option, the bike would not be left for any reason short of the second coming. When the story is told at a bar the language is slightly different than typed above but you get the idea. Dave says that the decree on the other end of the cell phone that night was, 'I don't care if you have to get your ass on that f**cking bike and ride it home yourself, you DO NOT LEAVE THAT BIKE'<i> </i>I never asked my aunt why she was so adamant about getting that bike home but I can tell you I appreciate it still today.<br /><br />Another thing I cant explain is what happened next<i>. </i>Dave said he had his gear with him and would ride for a bit while I warmed up the rest of the way. Shocked I turned around in my seat to find that he had brought his helmet, leather jacket and leather gauntlet riding gloves! We walked around to the back of the truck blocked from the wind and suited up Uncle Dave. He was wearing a shirt with a nice sweater over it, to which we added a leather jacket, and for good measure we squeezed all this into a Chicago Bears jacket. Helmet was next and we shoe horned the hoodie of the Bears jacket over the helmet. After donning the gloves Dave looked like some kind of biker astronaut. Without complaint Dave mounted a bike he had never been on and rode the rest of the way home in pitch black, freezing, windy conditions at about 85 miles per hour (no speedo remember). Instead of going home that night I spent the remainder of the evening in the hot tub drinking rum and coke and trying to forget what cold feels like.<br /><br />Everything ended well and I had great memories made on that bike. To this day when I am browsing for a good deal I always take a peek at OKC ;)Danielnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-34281875249782925182010-04-06T22:22:00.000-05:002010-04-06T22:46:05.121-05:00How many counties in Texas?I decided that with my ambition of long distance riding and taking a motorcycle all over the country I needed a very tangible goal to get back in the swing of things.<br /><br />Something that I always wanted to do was visit every county courthouse in Texas. Many people have accomplished this in their own states including fellow Texans. I plan to have a photo taken of me and/or my motorcycle in front of a county courthouse, old or new, in every county seat in Texas.<br /><br />I have blasted through my home state so many times over the years that it would be worthless to count. Don't get me wrong I have seen a great deal of beauty that Texas has to offer, but I wouldn't dare consider that I have seen 'most' of it. The majority that I have seen has been through a car window as we sped along to some clever and interesting destination either here in Texas or elsewhere on the continent. I believe by taking on this task I will better be able to say, at the end, that yes I have seen a great deal of the Lone Star State. I have a map that I will be posting here along the way so that you all...[sound of crickets chirping]...can dutifully follow along. If you catch this blog before I am done with the County Quest, and feel like you would like to join me for a spell, please contact me. There is enough road out there that I think I can manage to share.<br /><br />By the way, there are 254.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/texas-county-map.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 780px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v124/docsvstar/texas-county-map.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-14596423206073546722010-04-06T22:18:00.000-05:002010-04-06T22:22:00.156-05:00Bike's very first picture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P9lfsvWUkIE/S7v5-YXXtqI/AAAAAAAAAAM/5mkKZt8arvc/s1600/kawi1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P9lfsvWUkIE/S7v5-YXXtqI/AAAAAAAAAAM/5mkKZt8arvc/s400/kawi1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457230223577167522" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3/26/2010</span>Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-80784013619786149492010-04-06T21:52:00.000-05:002010-04-06T22:18:02.588-05:00IntroductionMy first motorcycle was a 1999 Yamaha V-Star. This little bike put up with more than it's fair share of ridicule from the general public. It seemed, though I know I must have had a hand in it, that the more trash talk that this machine had to endure, the attitude of the V-Star grew closer to the breaking point and eventually leaped directly over the edge becoming a mean looking and behaving little motorcycle. One of the biggest insults hurled at my motorcycle on a regular basis was how incapable a 650cc motor must be as a cruiser. Tipping the scales at just a hair over 'none of your damn business' I can assure you that this bike did everything I asked of it including the highway riding two up, with only 649cc. Anyway, I did not have any problems out of it until shortly before I sold it when there developed a slight shudder in the front end. Never did figure out what that was?<br /><br />The V-Star was sold to purchase a catalytic converter and some other parts and labor to get our 1993 Chevrolet Caprice Station Wagon to pass the Texas State Inspection. Before long, however I found a 1982 Honda GL1100 Goldwing Interstate that promised to fill the void in my life left by the Yamaha. I purchased this bike from a gentlemen residing in a suburb of Oklahoma City, I then lived in Anna, TX which is about a half hours drive north of Dallas. The trip home with this motorcycle was a journey of its own which I will share in another post, for which it deserves. This bike faithfully preformed the entire time I owned it. I enjoyed my first Motorcycle road trip on this bike, alongside Uncle Dave and his 1986 Aspencade, and have been dying to see the rest of the country ever since.<br /><br />The Wing and a Kawasaki Ninja 250 that my wife, Tawnya, had been learning to ride on were sold in the late spring of 2008. The exact reason I sold these bikes escapes me just know but I assume it had to do with something along the lines that I would rather eat and feed my family than ride a motorcycle. In hindsight I often wonder if it would not have been more beneficial to keep the bike and just skip a few meals myself?<br /><br />The drought has ended and I can breathe again now that I have purchased another set of wheels. After a rather long winter and a short but draining battle with a boat ('break out another thousand' Rick would say) I met a beautiful looking sport tourer, a category with which I admittedly have very little experience. This 2001 Kawasaki Concours will be the subordinate character in these tales for the foreseeable future. <br /><br />I am commuting to and from work on this motorcycle both to try and catch up on lost time aboard a bike and to get a good idea of what I will need to get in order before attacking my first conquest. The counties of Texas...............................Danielnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7468752045097946455.post-50912477713105765442010-04-06T21:46:00.001-05:002010-04-06T21:51:28.542-05:00Today a Blog was bornI have decided to join the rest of the planet and use this blog as a storage space for all my thoughts, pictures and writings while enjoying the roads of the United States and beyond. Many post may make little sense to those that know me and hear about my journey first hand, and may make no sense at all to those whom I have not had the pleasure of meeting, yet. This blog may turn out to be little more than a landfill for everything that I don't trust my mind to hold safe and complete. Enough with the first post, Blogging is all about getting to your second 8^)Danielnoreply@blogger.com0